I keep telling myself that I’m going to write more regularly.
Then it’s months gone by.
But I’m here today, and Kate says: recover.
I started running about six weeks ago. Not very fast. Not every day. But I push the beepy little buttons on the treadmill and the flap and wheels beneath my feet accelerates. All I can focus on is breathing in and breathing out. I start to sweat just by looking at the treadmill, so by the time I’ve completed a couple of miles, I’m soaked. That’s all right. For that brief window of time, I’m not thinking. And not thinking has become precious to me.
You see, I think my feelings before I feel my feelings, and because of a natural lag, those feelings take awhile to sink in. Lately I wonder if I will ever recover from the stings and tears that give rise to those feelings. Lately I wonder if my motivation is to please God or to please other people. When you’re involved in ministry, it gets jumbled up. When your sense of self is deeply connected to what you can accomplish, it gets worse.
Then I get mad at myself, because, come on. How long am I going to have these same struggles?
But feelings, are they struggles?
I think about something I heard once, years ago. When you’ve got an addiction, you’re never “recovered,” but rather always “in recovery.” To some, that sounds defeatist or indicates a lack of commitment. Say something like this in Christian circles, and there’s an inevitable, “But Jesus came to set you free!” response. Yes. That’s true. But Jesus doesn’t set you free in order that you no longer need Jesus.
So maybe to recover, to be sanctified, to be awash in holiness, to be connected to God, is to plop my sweaty, messy self down at the foot of the cross again, the rough wood driving splinters into my forehead as I lean against it.
Maybe it’s not what you’re running from, but Who you’re running to.